I spent a lot of my childhood sitting in the passenger seat of my dad Kamil’s Volvo, on the barbecue run, listening to Turkish radio. We would usually get the same things: chicken breasts for mum, boneless thighs for the rest of us, and some sort of lamb on the bone for dad. He would purposely butcher it poorly, leaving bits of meat on the bone to grill slowly and pick at as he cooked for the rest – a “trick” he had learned from his dad. My love for barbecues, cooking over live fire, and entertaining, definitely stems from him.
Barbecues would always start with an impromptu announcement at the table after Sunday morning family breakfast. Mum would begrudgingly agree, knowing the mess my dad can produce in about 20 minutes. It didn’t take much persuading in my house to get the mangal [Turkish barbecue] lit. We didn’t need perfect blue skies. A dry day and enough sunlight to see us through to the evening would be enough to seal the deal, although dad has been known to barbecue under a tree in a bin bag if the weather didn’t cooperate.
